An insignificant dot is often filled with quietness,

often entangled in chaos,

often part of a straight line, often of a circle,

often soluble, often insoluble,

often plays the assigned role, often the destined role,

often wants to become somebody, but ends up becoming nobody.

A prisoner of love and hate often a dot is.

It often doesn’t know what a right or a wrong is.

Being so dependent, the dot forfeits the right to be called ‘I’.